


Muzzle

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Omegas couples are highly respected and it is generally agreed that the rarer, unbonded alphas need to be kept under careful lock and key so that their own aggressive, protecting instincts aren't used against them. John and Barsad are quite happy with their relationship together as bonded omegas, but when their heats start syncing up and getting out of hand, they decide that maybe it's time to add a third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muzzle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4luvofbatsnwarmakeup (thewaynecondition)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaynecondition/gifts).



> Written as a birthday request for i-will-always-serve.tumblr.com (Niya). A bit late with posting but happy birthday sweetie!

John and Barsad had never given thought to owning an alpha before. Actually, they've always rather enjoyed helping one another with their cycles since they bonded. But when they've been together so long that their heat cycles have finally synced up together, making things more difficult, they decide that having an alpha to aid them through them will be ideal.

It turns out not to be as simple as it sounds, though. They don't know what they're really looking for when they go to one of the homes set up to sell alphas. They both only know what they don't want, which is an overaggressive alpha that they'll have to keep under lock and key save for heats. That idea doesn't sit well with either of them.

John has seen more than one childhood friend in St. Swithin’s differentiate alpha and then need to go to one of the sale houses so they could be given to an omega pair that would keep them under careful control. It's not an alpha's fault that their nature leads them to be so aggressive when smelling omega heat, and the idea of locking anyone away because of their nature has always left John feeling uneasy. He understands emotions better than anyone, as well as how they could sometimes get the better of someone.

Barsad feels much the same. One of his mothers had been an alpha and the most loving, nurturing parent he ever could have hoped for. He speaks about his memories of her often, and John loves to hear about them, to watch the small, wistful smile that curls on his mate's lips whenever he says her name. As far as they are both concerned, if they are going to take an alpha into their bed, they want them to be a serious part of the relationship, part of a bond, not just a toy. They know that it's possible, but they don't know where to start.

Then they find Bane.

"How will we even know we have found who we are looking for?" Barsad asks, bewildered at the long line of sectioned-off glass rooms.

John feels pretty much in the same boat. He's always known alphas are rarer, but it doesn't seem like it now with so many lined up in a row in so many shapes and sizes. "Right now it's just window shopping, remember? If we find someone we're interested in, we can arrange a visit."

"Do they really have to be locked up like this?" Barsad's face looks troubled.

"It's to keep them from imprinting on an omega by accident," their guide helpfully supplies. "The glass prevents your scent from reaching them. They understand it's for their own good." She pauses and purses her lips in a slight annoyance. "Well, most of them, anyway."

It probably says something about them both that this is what catches their attention.

"Most?" Barsad tears his gaze away from a glass cell. "Some do not?"

Their guide sighs. "There are more stubborn ones. Ones who don't understand we're only trying to help."

John bites back an amused laugh at the shocked look on their guide’s face when Barsad informs her that it is those that he wants to see. It probably sounds crazy, but when one gets down to it, an alpha that questioned the system is more than a little perfect for them.

"We don't really have any; well, there's one we are keeping in a separate area, but there's complications," her voice trails off uncertainly.

Now John's interest is more than piqued. He shares a look with Barsad and he clears his throat, ignoring Barsad's entertained look when he slips into the tone he uses when he leads investigations. Barsad calls it his "cop voice."

"You can explain it to us on the way to them."

The woman nearly balks, then nods her head quickly and leads them on. Barsad's hand slips into his, giving a brief squeeze as he leans over to whisper, "That voice never fails."

"Works on you every time, anyway," John shoots back quietly, squeezing his hand back when Barsad chuckles.

"He's a male, very strong build, some scarring," their guide explains, her tone almost nervous. "He's technically not for sale, yet. There were complications in acquiring him."

"You keep saying this. Perhaps just tell us what they are, instead,” Barsad suggests. His tone is patient and his eyes calm, but John knows him well enough to know he is slightly annoyed by the runaround.

"He was pulled out of the pit," their guide finally admits.

"Jesus," John swears. The underground fighting ring for alphas was a dangerous and deadly place. He's been pulled in to investigate possible occurrences of it showing up in Gotham more than once. He's always been a little glad when they turned out to be nothing. "What was he doing in there?"

"From what we understand, he was sold to it at an early age. He was one of their top fighters. He escaped, though, found his way to the civilized world." She shakes her head. "Not that he thinks the same way. He actually thinks we're just as bad because we won't let him go out. Imagine the trouble he could get into without even meaning to."

"Guy spent his whole life underground, of course he wants out," John mutters, feeling a rush of sympathetic anger. He knows what it's like to get caught up in an unfair system.

Barsad strokes the back of his hand briefly. When they get to a more secluded hall, they are met with a pair of metal doors.

"There's a couple of other things—"

"I am sure you can tell us later," Barsad says, clearly not wanting something else to draw up John's ire. He's always been good to him like that, calmly soothing him out of it with ease. He coolly sidesteps their guide, and John follows. The metal doors let out a low buzz as they pass through them.

There's no glass cell here, instead there are thick steel bars. Inside of the cage—because without the fancy glass it is a lot easier to accept that yes, it is a cage—sits a man, more crouches, really, against the corner. Even curled and low to the ground it is easy to tell how massive he is. Barrel-chested, his thick muscles tense as he holds a hand back behind himself protectively.

"Are you fucking kidding me, he still has that mask on?" John has seen one or two of them confiscated before, used to block scent from Alphas. It's a fucking muzzle and a punishment as far as John is concerned; alphas can't smell anything over the filters with them on, can't even speak.

John understands what he's protecting when a tiny head pokes out from behind his arm.

"You have a child in there?" Barsad asks tersely, his own fingers clenching tightly.

Their guide quickly turns defensive, gripping the edges of her clipboard. "I told you there were complications. He took the child with him from the pit, and he refuses to separate from her OR take the mask off."

A kid. A kid in a fucking cage, probably already used to being in one if this alpha had taken her from, no, probably RESCUED her from the pit. Pregnancy between alphas is almost unheard of, extremely rare, but the results always create another alpha. No wonder he's fighting; in his place, John wouldn't let anyone buy him or separate him from her, either, to see her kept locked up and sold off.

John walks over to the bars and kneels down. He hears Barsad dismissing the guide in the background sternly, flustering her until she leaves, warning them not to get too close.

"Hey," he touches the bars lightly, focusing on the tiny pair of blue eyes that peer at him, rightfully full of suspicion, "my name's John, what's yours?"

The girl slips out from behind the alpha, much to the larger man's displeasure. His large hand shoots out while he sits heavily on the floor, tugs her into his lap. She squirms but settles with his hand on her shoulder.

John feels Barsad lower himself down beside him to sit. "Perhaps you could tell us your friend's name, instead, little one," he coaxes softly.

The girl eyes them some more, her hand gripping onto the alphas arm, before she finally speaks warily, "Bane."

Bane tugs at her shirt, shakes his head. John is surprised to see a sudden flurry of hand movements, deceptively graceful for the thickness of his fingers. The girl huffs, her own small fingers flicking and twisting around. It's clearly some sort of language though it doesn't seem like the sort of sign language that John has seen before. It shouldn't surprise him, though. All of those alphas in the pit would have to learn to communicate somehow.

"Bane?" John asks, and watches as now two sets of eyes fix on him, one a pale blue with even paler eyebrows furrowed at him. The little girl clamps her mouth shut and glares. He can't help but wonder what has just been said about them, but he feels like he should probably be insulted.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bane," Barsad calls out softly, unruffled by the looks they are receiving, "It is a shame we cannot have a talk with one another. I feel like you would have a very interesting story to tell."

When they leave, they don't even need to discuss it. They both know they've found what they are looking for.

It takes several more visits for the girl to talk to them again. They start spending their evenings there after work; John will bring some reports to work on while Barsad brings a book to read out loud. It's hard to miss how each day Bane sit a little closer to the bars with the little girl in tow.

"My name is Talia," she whispers out quickly one evening, getting a poke in the ribs from Bane, making her smack at his hands and sign angrily at him.

Barsad closes the book he had finished and gently interrupts their flurry of hand movements, a clear argument. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Talia."

By the time they have finished the Wizard of Oz, they are sitting close enough to see the pictures. John is reading this time. He sees how they both crane their necks slightly to see the pictures and so he takes a chance, slips the book between the bars for them to see the final colorful picture. Talia snatches it up with delight, showing Bane.

"Maybe tomorrow we could play a game," Barsad suggests.

"I like games," Talia says cautiously. Bane doesn't poke her.

Bane likes candyland, Talia go-fish. She starts to translate for Bane, who is still wary of them, still casts suspicious glances when they come in, keeps Talia in his lap as they play. But he does play along, reaches through the bars to move his piece and never once makes a grab for them when they are close enough now for him to snap an arm or a neck easily with his size. He doesn't speak much, but sometimes he greets them through her or has her say goodbye for him when they leave.

Then sometimes he feels a little more talkative. Barsad asks him one day about his escape. He looks at them for a long moment before he signs to Talia.

"I am strong. I was the strongest fighter, but Talia was not safe there even with me. I escaped so she could be free, not so we could be separated, subjugated again," Talia translates carefully, working the harder words out carefully with her mouth.

One day, he tells them that Talia is not his daughter. It surprises them, but through her he tells them of how he knew her mother, another alpha. He does not go into details, clearly to spare her.

There are so many hoops to jump through; Bane is considered 'feral'. There's no record of him in the system, and he has no bill of sale. Barsad tries to argue that he should just be able to come home with them then, but it's shot down as being too dangerous to have an alpha roaming free.

"I hardly see how a piece of paper changes that," John snaps angrily.

Still, paperwork is moving through even if there is a shitload of red tape to get through. That only leaves broaching the topic to the pair. They both know Bane doesn't want to be owned, but they don't want to treat him like a slave and they want to keep Talia with him, help her to have a good education and a chance at a somewhat normal childhood. It's the best of a bad situation, and they hope he'll take it, bond with them, be allowed out and about on his own if he likes.

They had planned to break it carefully, to discuss it calmly. They can tell Bane is a patient man from how he treats Talia, articulate, even if they cannot hear him speak yet, and far from the 'feral' tag he has jotted down neatly in red on his file.

As it is, one of the idiots at the compound has told them the news before John and Barsad's next visit. They are back to the corner; Talia darts out from behind Bane, though, shakes a small fist at them in anger.

"I won't let you take my friend!" she shouts out at them. She gets pulled back and John isn't so sure Barsad should be standing as close to the bars as he is with how tight Bane's body language is, crouched ready to spring, attack, but Barsad has always been confident in his body’s capabilities. It was how they'd attracted each other, having met through a police combat training course that Barsad was teaching.

Now he kneels down, addresses her, "What do you mean, Miss Talia?"

She isn't swayed by the soothing tone. She bites her lip and scoots back over to Bane. "You can't take him away from me. I need to keep him safe! You want to buy him. We heard them say it!"

"Talia..." Now it's John's turn. He understands this, the fear of losing someone when you've lost so much. He lowers himself with Barsad. "We would never try to keep you apart. We want to take you both home with us, away from being stuck inside of a cage. We don't ever want you to be apart, either."

Talia lowers her fist, and there's a soft vulnerability in her usual fierce gaze. She's scared, and John hates that they've caused that. "We would never try to take you away from Bane," he promises. "I know what that's like, to not be with someone you love anymore. I'd never do that to you, Talia."

"I can go, too?" There's a slight waver to her voice, a daring to hope.

"We wouldn't have it any other way," Barsad agrees. "We were going to talk to you about it, today." He looks up at Bane as he stands over them, his eyes clouded. "To both of you, about it."

Talia wants to go. Bane is clearly more uncertain. He wants to ask questions, knows some things that such a thing will mean for him, but does not want to ask them in front of Talia. They resort to pen and paper. John's never exactly flirted over pen and paper, but seeing the slight flush rise up on Bane's cheeks when he sends a particularly cheeky message over to him makes it more than worth it.

He then looks downright scandalized by whatever Barsad hands him. Talia tries to see, and Barsad calmly takes the paper back, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

There's more serious talk, though, of what owning him would mean. They promise that they'll take care of Talia, never let her be sold off, that they want her safe with them, and that they'll take care of them both.

Bane seems puzzled at the idea of someone else taking care of him. Barsad slides his hands through the bars daringly and takes hold of Bane's hand. The bigger man's eyebrows rise in surprise, his eyes quickly looking down and away in what John can see is clear shyness over the intimate touch of Barsad bringing his hand up, kissing over the thick scarring across his knuckles.

"You have fought for so long, Bane. Perhaps it would be nice for someone to watch over you," Barsad says as he squeezes his hand, letting go of it.

'As a slave,' Bane finally writes down onto the paper.

"As a mate," John argues, and it's his turn to reach out. He touches his knee, the thick cargo fabric there, and feels the warmth of his skin under it. "We don't have to live by their rules."

Bane agrees; it is with great trepidation, but he agrees. He doesn't want Talia in there anymore, and he is putting his trust into them. John swears to himself that he will never do anything to break that.

It is good timing. Their cycle will hit soon, and they use it as a means to push along the red tape, and Talia is gleeful to spring out of the cell. Barsad scoops her up into his arms for a hug and she laughs, wrapping around him, tugging at his scarf.

"It's good to finally get a hug from you," he tells her.

Bane watches like a hawk. John touches his arm lightly and his head snaps over to him.

"It's nice to finally see you out of there; now let’s get the fuck out of here and never come back."

Bane's eyes narrow in disapproval at the language. John is startled into laughing when his hand sifts into his hair, tugs at it sharply in reprimand.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Not in front of Talia," he promises, and for the first time he sees the corners around Bane's eyes crinkle and realizes he's smiling. His fingers go from pulling to smoothing, thoughtful, testing, and John stays still, lets him figure out his place with them, what he's comfortable with.

"That felt nice," he assures him quietly when the hand finally leaves his hair.

Talia practically dances in front of them as they walk along the sidewalk. Some people glance over at Bane's mask curiously, but a few glares from John has them looking away just as quickly. It's a good day, some shopping for things they'll need, though they've already set up the spare room for Talia, and bringing home dinner. Bane tells them through Talia what he can eat with the mask, not wanting to take it off just yet. It's understandable; he needs time. He's worn it for as long as he can remember, and in some ways it has to make him feel safer with so many new adjustments.

Talia nearly droops into her bowl of soup by the end of it, so much stimulation and new surroundings. Bane takes her into his arms, and she's asleep before her head hits her new pillow. John watches from the hall while Barsad cleans up dinner. He smiles at seeing Bane brush his thumb across her cheek.

"We're going to make sure she's happy here," he says quietly, Bane looks over, nods curtly. It strikes John that it's the first time that they've had an opportunity to be with him without Talia's watchful eye, and Bane seems to recognize that; it almost seems to make him nervous.

"How about you stay in here with her for a little? You can come join us when you're ready," John suggests, and there's a quiet relief on Bane's face, another nod.

They can both be patient, but they're not above cheating. Their heats have been slowly building throughout the day, and now that they know they don't have to hold back anymore, they find themselves toppling onto the bed together.

"I sincerely hope that she is a heavy sleeper," Barsad chuckles as he draws John in for a kiss. John groans against his lips in realization.

"Shit, do you think we'll wake her?"

"The walls are thick." Barsad places a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm certain we'll be fine."

Their kisses grow more heated. Barsad growls playfully, slips his tongue between his lips and plays with his own as his hands run down his arms. When Bane finds his way to them, they're lying out on the bed together, their shirts having long since been tossed aside while John's mouth is at his mate's chest, tonguing over a nipple and smirking at the low groan that leaves Barsad when he scrapes his teeth over the pebbled flesh.

"Bane..." his name leaves Barsad's lips with a low rasp as he arches under John's attentions. They can smell his arousal already, thick and heady, slowly starting to permeate the room and triggering their cycles into ramping up.

Bane stands in the doorway, his fingers curling restlessly as his breathing puffs out quickly from behind the mask.

"Lose the shirt and come to bed with us?" John rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his elbow and holding his hand out in offering. It gets Bane to the bed, slowly pulling his shirt over his head so they can admire the way his muscles move as he goes. He's clearly nervous, and John knows that Barsad has to find it just as adorable as he does, the way he sits up when Bane sits down beside him, clasps his hands onto his thick shoulders and kisses the top of his head.

"Will you let us take care of you?"

When he tilts his head in a cautious agreement, Barsad touches his mask. "Can this come off?"

That has him uncertain again. John takes his hand, rubs down his arm over the thick muscle there. "We’d like to scent-bond with you, Bane. You already smell so good to us."

Barsad makes a noise of agreement, emphasizing it by nosing over the crook of Bane's neck and drawing in a slow breath. "You smell powerful, strong," he tells him in a low voice as his fingers creep across his chest. "We want to know how we smell to you, and we would like to be able to hear you finally, kiss you."

Bane's hand strokes slowly over the sheets as he clearly contemplates all of what that means. There's a reason they keep those alphas behind bars; if their scents are compatible enough in heat, it means Bane could bond with them even with just one cycle. It's what they'd like, they're both willing to admit that they've fallen for this big, sweet alpha and that little girl sound asleep across the hall, and they want them to be in their lives for a good long time.

John feels a rare smile on his face when he sees Bane's hands reach for the mask on his own, carefully working it open and off. Barsad moves to his front to watch with him. He's beautiful, which isn't something John had counted on, but is more than ok with. They watch as his plush lips part, as he holds the mask and closes his eyes, breathes in his first taste of unfiltered air, of their scents.

He moans, fingers nearly crushing the mask in his hands before Barsad carefully takes it away.

"Shh, it's alright Bane," John soothes him, petting down the thick, warm muscle of his flank. Bane's nose flares, his chest heaving as he sucks in deep breaths. It's the first time he's scented the delicious, rich scent of an omega cycle, and his tongue licks out with an uncertain desire, tasting it in the air.

Barsad smiles, setting aside the cruel muzzle. "We will certainly have no need for this, anymore."

He climbs onto him slowly as he guides Bane to lie out on their bed for them. Barsad doesn't let him be shy, not with his beginning cycle filling him with a slowly burning and building desire. When Bane turns his head away, he lies down against him, tilts his head to the side to expose his own neck, already tinged red with arousal as Bane's hands slide over the sheets, bunching into the fabric.

"It is alright, remember? Go ahead," he encourages, and Bane's fingers hold onto the sheets a moment longer before he reaches for Barsad's slender shoulders, gripping them, holding him still as he nuzzles against his neck. His tongue tics out to taste the sheen of sweat there, the heavy salt of Barsad's pheromones too enticing for him to resist. His hips buck up almost instantly, jostling Barsad a little and making him chuckle with John.

"That's it." He shifts so he can slowly draw his hips up, grinding their cocks together though their pants. Bane's head drops back onto the pillow and he pulls Barsad closer, growls and licks a scorching wet stripe along his throat.

John watches, dipping down to kiss just behind Barsad's ear. "You look really nice together."

Barsad hums in acknowledgement, his body clearly already thrumming with pleasure from the way Bane's hands are stroking down his bare back, his hips, cupping over the curves of his still-clothed ass. Bane's movements are smooth but clearly new to him. He doesn't try to grip too roughly, to sink bruises into Barsad's skin and claim him. It's why they chose him, bought him, because they knew he would be perfect for them—strong, but not mindless even through the disorientation of his first scenting.

John lies down on his side beside them, reaches out and traces a slow finger across Bane's bottom lip. They're sensitive, locked away for so many years. Bane closes his eyes and savors the new sensation, and John can't resist that. He leans forward and hears Barsad's low chuckle as he kisses over Bane's mouth.

He goes still for a moment, but oh then he takes to it with no small amount of keen interest. With an almost shaky breath brushing against John's lips, he's kissing back, slowly, exploringly. John lets him, encourages him with a quick flick of his tongue, a throaty murmur. He draws Bane's tongue out to play and loves the low rumble of pleasure in response to it. When he pulls back Bane follows him, looks briefly disappointed.

Barsad cups his cheek and looks down at him with a small grin. "It's my turn," he informs him before dropping down to press little kisses against his cheeks, his nose, scraping his beard against the corner of his jaw before their mouths meet.

Between the scent and the kisses, Bane looks nearly undone for them. It if wasn't for their heats, John would suggest letting this be enough for the night, but neither of them are quite that selfless. With all of these pheromones mingling and filling the room, he can feel himself getting warmer, more needy, the sudden slickness inside of him growing.

Bane watches them undress with a curious interest. He doesn't look away now, not shy anymore but hungry and eager as Barsad shimmies out of his pants without leaving his body and helps him strip down after. Bane slides his hand into his hair cautiously, giving a slight pull, urging him down to kiss again. Barsad rewards the initiative, biting playfully into Bane's bottom lip and tugging.

John is mostly busy admiring the size and thickness of their new alpha. As they kiss, he slides a hand between them, circling it around Bane's cock, barely.

"Jesus, look at you," he mutters. Barsad glances down and chuckles.

When Bane looks confused, almost alarmed, John has to reassure him, "No, it's good, you're just big." He pulls his hand up him slowly, feeling the heat there, watching how Bane's eyes lid quickly, his lips parting into a groan. "Really big."

"That is... ok?" Bane asks, and they stop, stare. His voice is strange, a curious lilt to it, and it suits him so well.

"It's more than ok," John promises, "and hello."

"Hello," Bane gives him an amused look, "John, Barsad."

They chuckle. It's a nice moment before their cycles kick into high gear. John can see the slickness dripping down Barsad's thighs. He drops his head back and cries out softly when John slides a hand between his cheeks, teases at the hot wet there.

John opens him slowly, watching how his thighs are trembling with tension at each slow stroke against his hole, how his lips are licked over and he grips at Bane's sides as John presses his fingers into him, works them apart to stretch him. There's usually little need when they're in heat, but Bane is pretty large.

Bane is watching with rapt attention. When John draws a low moan out of Barsad his hips shift up unconsciously. John decides to teach him, slips his fingers from Barsad, much to his disappointment, and guides Bane's own thick ones there, instead. It takes only a little encouragement before he slips one then another in, his eyes wide with marvel at Barsad’s scorching heat.

"There's where he wants you," John tells him, watching how he works his fingers carefully but quickens them when Barsad cries out at a brush over the sensitive nerves inside of him.

"I want—" Bane stops, staring at how Barsad's body arches and his throat flushes.

Barsad nods quickly, "Yes, now."

Bane's cry is low, full of an almost wonder as Barsad straddles him, holds him in place and slowly slips him inside. John can sympathize, knows just how tight his mate is, how incredibly hot he feels in heat. Barsad's head drops down from the effort as he slides down, taking each bit of Bane with a slow eagerness that makes Bane clench his eyes shut in an effort to not grab, to not pull him down onto him. Barsad makes a noise of satisfaction when he's settled flush against Bane's body. A tantalizingly slow roll of his hips has them both moaning.

Bane tries to take hold of his hips, but Barsad wants nothing of it; when he rides, he likes to be the one in complete control of it. There are other times when he loves nothing more than to be pounded down into the mattress, and Bane will learn that, but this isn't one of them. John pins his wrists above his head, instead, knowing that Bane could easily break the hold if he wanted to, but also having the feeling that he won't.

"It's ok, just let him move. He's going to make you both feel good."

Bane nods, his breathing catching when Barsad draws up slowly, nearly pulling off of him until the head of his cock is stretching the rim of him again. Then he drops back down, takes him in one smooth thrust. Bane's muscles are tight in his arms, like he wants to grab, to fuck up into Barsad until he knots, but he doesn't push against John's hold at all and they both see that, and know it's something to be rewarded. So Barsad doesn't tease as he might; he rolls his hips smoothly, drops down into an angle that will make Bane's cock rub just how Barsad likes with each stroke. His cock is leaking down onto Bane's stomach, and with the hand he's not bracing against his chest with he reaches, rubs his scent into Bane's reddened skin.

"You're ours now," he tells him, voice thick with his need, and Bane's head jerks in agreement, so much scent soaking into his brain now it's almost unfair for him, but they'll take the moment anyway. "Our alpha."

"Barsad," the name leaves his mouth in a sort of awe over everything happening to him, how Barsad moves on him, each rock of his hips sliding him smoothly into his body, each kiss at his neck and chest a little claim.

John sees them both almost there, and he lets go of Bane's hands, is sympathetic at the confused noise Bane makes when he wraps his hand around his cock, doesn't let him thrust fully into Barsad's heat as Barsad's body goes tight, shudders as his orgasm rocks through him and leaves ropes of hot seed on Bane's skin. The heady scent from it triggers Bane's own release and he growls, trying to thrust up fully; John can feel his knot swelling in his hand.

Bane's chest is heaving and the noise he makes is nearly a snarl when John holds the base of him, doesn't let him knot into Barsad. Neither of them are scared of it, though, they know it's just baser instinct, frustration. They're not doing it to be cruel. Bane will be hard again faster without the primal satisfaction of knotting into Barsad, and they explain that gently, are met with a groan and a curt nod of understanding.

"I'll let you tie inside of me," John promises. "I can't wait to feel you stretch me open."

He drags his tongue over Bane's stomach as he waits for Barsad to come down from his orgasm, tastes the explosive concoction of alpha sweat and omega come on his tongue. He ends up biting at his flushed skin, sucking wet marks there while Barsad finally slips off of Bane to give him his turn. Bane is still so hard, the tip of his cock almost an angry red now as it peeks out from his foreskin, swollen and smeared with come, with Barsad's slickness.

If he wasn't feeling so empty, he'd take the time to prep himself more, but he knows how wet he is, how he's aching to be filled. The urge to rut has kicked into overdrive. This is their alpha now, and he can feel how his scent is becoming part of their own, soaking into their skin, how Barsad has marked him with his come and he can taste him in his mouth. John wants and needs him now, he won't wait.

It burns even with all of the slickness dripping out of him, rewetting the head of Bane's cock as it nudges against his opening. It just makes it better to work him in slowly, his fingers shaking as he grips his cock. He can't bite back a whimper when he's worked the tip of him in, feeling himself stretch around him welcomingly. Barsad is beside him, kissing across his lips, smiling and cupping his cheek.

"That's it; slowly, John." He helps him, holds his hip so his instinct doesn't make him snap down and hurt himself. Bane growls under him and his hands move to his thighs, gripping, but they don’t force; they stroke across the tensing muscle there encouragingly, urgingly. He's being so good for them, and the knowledge that he's theirs, that he wants to be good for them, to be with them, drives him on, making the burn and slow filling that much better.

"John." That same awe is there when John feels him bottom out inside, and oh God, there's so much of him, so much contained strength, and Bane's face has just so much amazement there, shock that he could ever feel so good that it has John smiling.

"Bane," he answers, leaning down and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, kissing his ear gently and whispering into it, "Touch me; move for me."

Barsad has to guide him. John feels thick, strong arms wrap around his own shoulders and then Bane is rocking, leisurely, making him slide in with an agonizing sort of slowness. Each pull out makes him bite at Bane's neck, disgruntled; each pleasurable, slow slide in earns him a favorable lick across his throat. He urges him on, hears Barsad do the same until it's desperate, perfect thrusts that jostle him, strike deep and hard into him. It takes some shifting, Barsad moving them both, until a quick jerk of Bane's hips has him glancing perfectly against his prostate, sending a deep throb of pleasure through him.

"There, right there," he orders, and Bane tries so hard for him to hit it again, only managing on the occasional thrust, but it's so good, like a tease, never knowing when Bane will manage and make him see spots. Each time he nails it, John cries out softly in his ear, feels himself leaking down onto him, his own scent and pheromones joining Barsad’s, claiming him with him. When he feels the beginnings of Bane's swelling, he notices how frantic his movements become, worried it will be denied again. He soothes him with a nuzzle to his ear.

"It's ok, I'm going to let you, promised I would." He knows he's slurring, his tongue feels so thick in his mouth and he's so close, feeling it coiling up, but he waits, tries to hold back because he wants to feel Bane first.

"C'mon." He's nearly shaking with it now, his fingers digging into Bane's shoulders. "C'mon, Bane, come for me," he hisses it out, groaning when he's obeyed, when he feels himself being stretched so wide it burns again, Bane's knot tying them together, swelling against his prostate and it pushing him over, forcing his climax out of him in an electrifying rush as he feels warmth flowing into him.

Barsad kisses them both as John slumps onto Bane, groaning at the slight tug the movement causes between them. He loves the feeling of being knotted and how Barsad is stroking his back tenderly, telling Bane how well he did for them both. It's far from over for them, however. Their cycle will last throughout the night, and John wants to see Barsad being stretched wide like he is now, how his sleepy eyes will close in bliss as Bane pours his seed into him, but for now it's quiet. They exchange kisses, bite playfully at Bane's neck and tell him how much he is theirs now. He accepts each nip, each slow lick across his throat with a rumble of contentment. He reaches towards Barsad and isn't denied, nuzzles his throat in return and inhales slowly, happily taking in their scents.

"I am yours," he acknowledges slowly, realizing the weight, how much he is giving and trusting them in it. Then he kisses Barsad's neck, his teeth pressing gently, not quite a bite, and his soft lips brush against the soft mark left almost in apology, his words less certain now. "And… you are mine?"

Barsad hums happily at the attention, bares his throat more and sighs contently, "Yes Bane; we are yours now, too."

They lace their fingers all together and rest in a tangle of limbs until they are all ready for the next round. It's not a long wait, and when they wake in the morning, bruised and more than a little sore, they kiss again, quickly, before any sort of questioning can be had between them. They settle and clean, pull Talia into their fresh blankets for a good morning cuddle before they're all ready to go out and face their new world together.

**Author's Note:**

> http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/


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